


Life Is Not a Song

by Selkit



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Angst, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional Baggage, F/M, Loss of Virginity, Older Man/Younger Woman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-15
Updated: 2012-10-15
Packaged: 2017-11-16 08:39:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/537574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selkit/pseuds/Selkit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love is all you need...isn't it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life Is Not a Song

Bethany isn’t sure how it begins, really. 

She first notices Nathaniel from across the room not long after she arrives at Vigil’s Keep. He makes for an eye-catching figure, with his tall, broad-shouldered stature and the thick dark hair that falls to his shoulders. He wouldn’t quite make it as the leading man in one of Isabela’s sordid novels—his nose is a bit too long, his face a bit too craggy—but he makes her breaths come a little faster all the same.

It’s just a meaningless crush, of course. He’s older than her, perhaps not _insurmountably_ , but enough to raise a few eyebrows. And he’s already a decorated Warden, with Maker knows how many missions under his belt, while she’s a new recruit almost fresh out of the Joining. Not to mention that she’s not exactly _experienced_ when it comes to the opposite sex—and she’s always lacked her sister’s effortless charisma and saucy flirtatious one-liners.

So she’s more than a little surprised when Nathaniel greets her by name one day, his voice rumbling like a cat’s purr, his eyes fixed on her as though she’s the only woman in the world. She’s still surprised when he begins to seek her company with increasing frequency, first several times a week, then every day. Somehow she even manages to be surprised the first time he tips her head back and kisses her, even as her eyes drift closed and little sparks of heat shoot all the way down to the tips of her toes.

It’s the last thing she’d expected when she choked down that sip from the Joining’s goblet, the darkspawn blood and lyrium burning almost as bitterly as the tears in her eyes. She’d envisioned the rest of her life as a string of dark, lonely days, with her family behind her and only darkspawn ahead.

 _Perhaps_ , she thinks as she looks at Nathaniel, her heart stirring in her chest, _perhaps being a Warden won’t be quite so awful after all._

But even Nathaniel can’t make the darkspawn and the Deep Roads go away.

Every hurlock Bethany slays makes the taint echo in her blood, a constant reminder of everything she’s lost. Every trip she takes into the dark, narrow tunnels brings memories of the expedition that ended her life as she knew it—the expedition that she fought for, even against her sister’s reservations and her mother’s pleas. She sees their faces in her mind every time her gaze drifts up to the hard-packed earth pressing down above her head, the grim thoughts creeping up to follow her like a shadow, pursuing her no matter how hard she tries to push them away.

She tries to focus on Nathaniel instead, to hold on to the one _good_ thing she’s found in all this hardship. But somehow the warmth that fills her chest when he looks at her seems cooler every day, more and more powerless to stem the darkness that snaps at her heels.

* * *

She knocks on the door to his chambers one evening, and waits a few beats longer than normal before she hears his responding call. When she pushes the door open, she finds him sitting at the table, looking down at several sheets of paper smoothed under his fingers. His lips are curved in a soft, almost faraway smile that seems alien on his typically stoic face.

Bethany draws closer, peering down at the papers. She can’t quite make out the words, but she can see the script—neat, looping, and distinctly feminine. 

She clears her throat. “Am I interrupting?” she asks, somehow reluctant to part with the words.

Nathaniel glances up, transferring the smile to her, and for just a moment she pretends that she’s the one who inspired it. 

“No, not at all,” he says. “I was just reading a letter from my sister.”

For one long, slow moment, the world seems to crystallize around her, as though she’s caught in an ice spell and frozen to the bone.

“Oh,” she finally manages. “Your sister?”

He gives a distracted nod, eyes already back on the letter. His lips move, but she doesn’t hear the words. 

_My sister’s never written to me_ , she thinks. _Not even once. Too busy saving Kirkwall from anything and everything to remember her poor unfortunate kin that she left to languish in the Deep Roads—_

She forces the thoughts to a grinding halt, startled by the almost savage bitterness running through her own mental voice. She bites down hard on her lower lip, and it takes another moment before she notices Nathaniel’s eyes on her, a frown creased between his brows.

“You look troubled,” he says. “You’ve seemed troubled quite often lately, in fact. Is everything all right?” 

She stares at him, and for a moment the words all balance on her tongue, ready to come spilling out like water from a tipped bucket. 

But her mind intervenes, tying her tongue up into knots.

 _There’s no sense in telling him_ , she thinks. _No reason to complain to him about something that can’t be changed. Besides, he’s lost his old life, too—everyone in the Wardens has. It’s not as though my problems are especially difficult. And I’ve spent my whole life letting other people bear my burdens for me. This one has to be mine._

“It’s nothing,” she says, and tries for a smile. “Everything is fine. I just wanted to come and tell you good night.”

He watches her with his hawk-eyed gaze a moment longer before he nods, rising from the table. He still holds the letter in one hand, and rests the other on her waist as he gives her a brief kiss.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he murmurs.

He’s already returned to the letter by the time she reaches the door. She closes it quietly behind her, listening for the click of the latch. 

She rests her forehead against the frame and closes her eyes.

* * *

The morning sunlight cuts through the window like her sister’s knife, harsh against her eyes as she sets down her breakfast tray next to Nathaniel’s. He’s already halfway done with his meal, consuming each bite with his usual businesslike efficiency, but he shoots her a quick smile when she settles into the chair beside him. 

It took only a few breakfasts together for her to learn that he’s not much of a morning person, so she lets the silence stretch, her mind meandering like the drizzles of honey on her porridge. The dining area is still largely empty, and the few other Wardens’ muted conversation and gently clinking silverware is almost enough to lull her back to sleep. 

And then Nathaniel nudges her foot under the table, his gravelly voice breaking through the morning haze.

“Would you like to stay in my quarters tonight?” he asks.

His tone is so even, so _normal_ that she almost murmurs an affirmative before she fully registers his words. Her eyes go wide as saucers as his meaning sinks in, and she’s suddenly sure she’s never been more awake in her entire life.

Nathaniel gives a dry, quiet chuckle before she can even stammer out a response. He reaches out to pat her hand. “It’s all right. We don’t have to if you’re not ready yet.”

Bethany swallows, both her voice and the oatmeal sticking to her throat. She hides her hands in her lap so he won’t see the fingers twisting together. “It—it’s not that I’m not ready,” she finally says. “You just surprised me a little, is all.”

They haven’t talked about it much, just enough for him to know that she’s a virgin and her to know that he’s…well, _not._ Not for the first time, her mind drifts to the gulf of experience between them, thinking of the world he once knew—a noble’s world of socializing and feasting, of traveling and learning and _doing._ Not a world of secrecy and hiding, of moving from place to place, never getting close to anyone, always taking care to keep a low profile.

But her thoughts are fleeting in the face of his raised eyebrow.

“Is that a yes, then?” he asks.

She bites her lip, her heart pounding an insistent beat, crawling all the way up into her throat.

“Yes,” she says. 

His expression smoothes into a smile, and the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Good.”

He returns to his meal, cutting and scooping and chewing with his same dogged rhythm, his demeanor as calm as though they’ve just finished discussing the weather.

Bethany stares down at the remnants of her porridge, and fights back the flurries suddenly churning in her stomach.

* * *

_I’m not ready._

_Yes, I am ready._

_Are you sure?_

She stands outside Nathaniel’s door, fidgeting on her balls of her feet and clasping her fingers together. Her palms are sweaty, her fingers freezing cold, and she can’t seem to make them warm up.

 _I am ready_ , she thinks again, for possibly the hundredth time since breakfast. _This will be a good thing. It’ll make our relationship stronger. Perhaps it will be just what I need to help me finally leave the past where it belongs and focus on the future—a future with him._

 _It makes sense, after all. Everyone loves sex. Right?_

At least, that’s how it had always seemed in Kirkwall. A faint blush rises to her cheeks as she recalls some of Isabela’s more bawdy tales, usually told over cards and liquor in the Hanged Man. At times she’d been half-convinced that sex was all the pirate _ever_ talked about. And her own sister had always been much the same, unabashedly enjoying the company of one lover or another, never plagued with nervousness or second thoughts.

For once, the memories are soothing instead of painful, even if just a little. She nods, letting her eyes slip closed for a moment, and releases a deep breath. Then she squares her shoulders and knocks on Nathaniel’s door. 

This time she doesn’t have to wait for an answer.

The pounding of her heart is almost painful as he guides her inside, greeting her with a kiss. She’s been inside the room dozens of times, but this time it seems like unfamiliar territory, foreign and strange. With a start, she realizes it’s the same feeling she had when she first joined the Wardens—feeling like she’s adrift on an open sea, bobbing on a lonely raft with no lights to guide her.

 _No, don’t think that._ She’s not sure if it’s a command or a plea, but it ceases to matter, everything swallowed up in the noise as Nathaniel cups the back of her head and kisses her again. It’s more insistent this time, and she lets herself respond, relaxing slightly under his touch. _This is good. Kissing is familiar. I can do this. I can._

The world blurs a little after that, and she isn’t sure how her clothes come off, but suddenly they’re both naked and the bed is looming very, very large.

“Um.” She swallows, resists the urge to fold her arms around herself. “I’m not sure—what should I…?”

In response he reaches out to cup her chin, and she has no choice but to meet his eyes.

“Bethany.” His voice is rough, but her name is gentle on his tongue. “You’re absolutely sure you want to do this?”

She gives a quick, jerking nod, biting down on her lower lip. “I am.”

“All right.” He settles both hands on her waist and steers her toward the bed. “Lie on your back.”

She follows the instructions and breathes in deep, willing her racing heart to slow. She can feel his hands on her body, but the touches seem somehow distant, muted, as though her racing mind can’t fully process them.

His fingers move to her legs, trying to ease them apart. She stiffens without thinking, all her limbs freezing up, the sheets crumpling in her fists.

“Just try to relax.” Nathaniel leans over her, his hair brushing her face as he bends down to drop a quick kiss on her lips.

“Right,” she says, her shaky exhalation turning to a nervous laugh. “Sorry.”

“You’re doing fine.” His thumb skims over her cheek, and he moves to reposition himself. Bethany looks to the ceiling and tries to swallow, but her mouth is suddenly parched and her throat closes in on itself. She tries to ignore her thundering heartbeat— _it’s so loud, surely he must be able to hear it_ —and forces herself to relax as he parts her legs.

She’s always heard that the first time tends to hurt, but she still isn’t prepared for the sudden, sharp stab of pain. She tries to muffle the yelp, but doesn’t quite succeed, and hisses in a breath through teeth clenched so hard that her jaw aches in protest.

Nathaniel pauses, bracing himself above her as she tries to adjust. “Let me know if you need me to slow down,” he says, but she can see the tension on his face.

“No,” she manages. Her voice wobbles a little. “No, I’m all right. Keep going.”

She tries to lift her hips to meet his, but the flare of discomfort is too strong, and she falters. Her body feels strange, discombobulated, like a jumble of clashing parts all thrown together in a dysfunctional heap. Her eyes dart from the ceiling to Nathaniel’s face, to the walls and back to the ceiling, not knowing if she should try to meet his gaze. Her hands lie stiff and clenched by her sides, as awkward and useless as though they’ve been weighed down with cinder blocks. She hesitates before settling them gingerly on his back, letting herself be carried along with his movement.

As his thrusts come faster and harder, she thinks back to all the times that she’s heard her colleagues’ suggestive references to “Warden stamina,” and sends a silent prayer to the Maker that such claims are mere exaggerations.

She isn’t sure how much time passes before he bucks his hips hard against hers—once—twice—and then shudders and finally goes still. He collapses heavily, half on top of her, half on the bed, his weight not enough to crush her but enough to leave her pinned to the mattress. His skin is damp against hers, sticking to her like fabric after a long run on a summer day, and his breaths come fast and hot against her shoulder.

She lies still, waiting until he rolls off of her and turns to face her, his expression unreadable in the torch’s flickering light.

“Are you all right?” he asks. 

Bethany takes a deep breath, but her head nods before her mouth can betray her. “Yes,” she says. “Yes, I’m fine. I—”

She stutters to a halt, suddenly unsure of the proper thing to say. _Should I thank him? Apologize for not knowing what I was doing? Oh, Maker, this is so—_

He takes her hand and gives it a brief squeeze, and she returns the gesture, thankful for the distraction. 

“It’ll get easier,” he says. 

For a fleeting moment she wonders how many other virgins he’s deflowered and comforted with those words, but then supposes it doesn’t really matter. “All right,” she whispers, still nodding, not trusting herself to say more.

She shifts on the bed, gritting her teeth at the flare of pain, and sees her robes draped over the back of a chair. The sleeves are inside-out, the skirt’s hem pooled on the floor. Try as she might, she still can’t remember how they got there. 

“Um,” she says, and gestures at her clothing. “I suppose I should…?”

Nathaniel’s eyes follow her hand. “You can stay, if you like,” he says. “Or you can go, if that would make you more comfortable. It’s up to you.”

She stares at him, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. Everything is dull and aching and sticky, and there’s fluid slowly creeping down her thigh, and she wants nothing more than to flee back to her quarters and clean herself up and make sure everything is still _all right_ down there, but—

_What do I say? What does he want me to do? Does he want me to stay or go? I can’t tell what he’s thinking—_

“I’ll…stay?” she finally tries. 

Nathaniel smiles. “Good,” he says simply, and Bethany lets out a silent breath of relief.

The bed’s creaking is suddenly loud in the stillness as Nathaniel settles onto his side. Bethany follows his lead, every movement slow, careful to avoid aggravating the soreness. When she stops moving, he slings one arm over her hip and closes his eyes. 

She waits until his face relaxes and his breathing slows before she finally lets the hot tears slip down her cheeks.

* * *

It _does_ get easier, as time passes. The pain and discomfort eventually fades, and she learns what to do with her hands and her mouth, how to move her body in a way that makes him groan—and brings him to a quicker finish. Sometimes he asks if she’s enjoying herself, and she smiles and nods and distracts him with a kiss.

It becomes pleasant enough, she supposes, even if it never does approach that place she once imagined—that place of pulse-pounding, jaw-dropping pleasure that Isabela’s stories and wicked grins always seemed to promise.

 _But it’s all right_ , she thinks, and almost believes it. _We can’t all be as free as Isabela._

The months pass, and she drifts along with them, falling into a routine interrupted only by the missions that send her away from the Keep. Her mind feels detached from her body, like she’s standing at a distance and watching herself go through the motions. She keeps her family’s faces locked away in a dark corner of her mind, banishing them back there every time they manage to escape to the forefront of her thoughts. 

_It’s better this way_ , she tells herself. _This way, I can survive._

Eventually Nathaniel stops asking if she’s all right. She tries to ignore the stab of hurt mingling with anger, until she comes to realize that the resentment is aimed just as much at herself as it is at him. 

_It’s better this way_ , the mantra repeats every night as she waits for sleep to come, eyes fixed blankly on the ceiling while Nathaniel slumbers next to her. Some nights she turns to stare at his oblivious face, lets the dull bitter ache stir beneath her breastbone. _You were supposed to make me happy, to make the past go away—_

_No, stop thinking about it. It’s better this way. This way, I can survive. It’s better this way._

_Isn’t it?_

* * *

She sits in a little meadow with a book open in her lap and the sun warm on her back, the breeze gently ruffling her hair. Nathaniel sits across from her, a few feet away, face set in concentration as he sweeps a cloth over his bow.

They often come here to steal a few moments away from their duties, to read or talk or just be together, but today she finds her mind racing and the words blurring on the page.

_No. Stop thinking. Don’t feel. Just read. It’s better this—_

“I can’t do this anymore,” she says. 

Nathaniel looks up, and she meets his eyes.

“More importantly,” she presses on, keeping her voice steady with an effort, “I _shouldn’t_ do this anymore.”

His brows draw together in a frown. “What do you mean?”

“I…” She swallows and pauses, forming the sentences in her mind. “I care about you, very—very much. But I’m in no state to be in a relationship at this point in my life. I tried to convince myself that I was, but I’m not. Ever since I became a Warden, I’ve been forcing myself not to feel, because everything—losing my family, giving up everything familiar—it just hurt too much. I told myself it was necessary, but now it’s like my life is nothing but an endless gray haze. I need to find some way to live with myself, to make peace with my emotions, before I can truly be there for someone else the way I wish I could be there for you.”

Silence settles over the meadow, thick and smothering. Nathaniel just looks at her, his expression completely blank, and Bethany forces herself not to fidget. 

Finally he sighs, setting his bow on the ground and leaning toward her. 

“We all have burdens to carry,” he says. “We all have issues that we’ll struggle with all our lives. If only perfect people had relationships, there would be no relationships.”

“I know,” Bethany replies. She closes the book in her lap, lacing her fingers together on top of it. “But this isn’t just some stubborn bad habit that I can’t quite defeat. This is something that has plagued me every day—every _hour_ since I joined the Wardens. And it’s something I have to overcome by myself. It isn’t fair to either of us—but especially to you—for me to keep going on like this, holding you up as the only good thing in my life. I’ve been expecting you to make me happy enough to overcome everything else, but I’m learning that things just don’t work that way.”

A sad half-smile crosses her face, her eyes growing distant. “When I was a little girl, my father used to tell me stories, the typical stories about heroes and heroines who fought dragons and vanquished evil, and then fell in love and lived happily ever after. When I couldn’t sleep at night, my mother sang to me about love and how it could banish all the evils and fears that kept me awake.”

She raises her eyes to his and searches his face. “But those were just stories, just songs. Life isn’t like that. You can’t save me from this. No one can. It’s just something I need to figure out for myself.”

“That may be.” He brings a hand to his forehead, a shadow crossing his eyes. “Still, I wish I could have done more for you. I could tell you were unhappy, but I hoped perhaps you just needed more time to adjust. A Warden’s life is hard, and everyone comes to it at a different pace.”

“You couldn’t have done more, Nathaniel.” She almost reaches out to grasp his hand before she stops herself. “I never even told you what was wrong. There were times that I wanted to, but I just couldn’t make myself say the words. That’s another reason why I need to do this on my own—I’m afraid if I stay with you, I’ll just fall back into those habits and nothing will ever change.”

“I understand.” His face grows thoughtful, lost in memories, his unfocused gaze drifting over her shoulder. “Sometimes it doesn’t matter how often people tell you things, or try to help you. In the end, everyone has to take responsibility for their own thoughts and actions.”

Bethany nods. “I can tell that’s a lesson you learned long ago. Now it’s something I have to learn.” She looks down at her lap, her mouth taking on a wry twist. “And possibly re-learn.”

The silence falls again, and Bethany bites her lip to keep from breaking it with babbled apologies and explanations, keeping her eyes locked on Nathaniel. It seems as though hours pass before his expression shifts, both resignation and acceptance crossing his face.

“Very well,” he says quietly. “If this is what you need to do, I won’t try to dissuade you. I’ll respect your decision.”

Bethany closes her eyes, every muscle going slack as relief and gratefulness wash over her. “Thank you,” she whispers. 

“If you ever need anything, you know where to find me.” Nathaniel pushes himself to his knees, reaching out to slip his fingers beneath her chin one last time. “Know that I wish you all the best, now and always.”

She nods, feeling the rising tears prickle, and closes her eyes as Nathaniel presses a chaste kiss to her forehead.

When she opens them again, he’s already gone, a lone figure striding into the distance. She watches him until he disappears from her view, swallowed up in the Keep. 

She lies back on the grass, letting her eyes drift skyward. For the first time in a long time, she doesn’t try to bury the dull ache in her heart.


End file.
